


Thanks for Sharing

by debwalsh



Series: Bingo-Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Loving with Food, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Proud Steve Rogers, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh
Summary: My first Happy Steve Bingo Fill!Bucky is recovering, and all he wants is to make the Perfect Thanksgiving for Steve.  But Perfect isn’t always the Best.  But the Best is just having him near.Trigger warning in the end notes.





	Thanks for Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> Filling the Food square of my Happy Steve Bingo card.

Bucky and Steve were gradually setting into life in Meadowville. It was different from living in the city when they were growing up. Really different - in time and space - from their lives on the front. Light years away from Bucky’s life on the run after Hydra. And It was really unlike anything either of them had ever experienced.

Bucky was doing better, and Steve was so, so proud of him. He tended his little plot of garden, coaxing and begging the little shoots to grow a little bigger, get a little stronger, hang on a little longer to settle in, extend roots, and flower into fruits, grow into vegetables, and ripen into tasty tubers. Sometimes they even cooperated and Steve had to laugh at the enthusiastic welcome Buck would give to such marvels.

All of Bucky’s shopping was done online, or through Steve. Try as he might, Steve couldn’t seem to convince Bucky to join him on his weekly drive into town to pick up essentials at the local grocer, Even the lure of fresh fruits and vegetables, not to mention meats and spices, was enough to get Bucky to take the risk of being out among people. So Steve followed the detailed instructions on selecting the right head of cauliflower, and would frequently text photos of produce to get Bucky’s seal of approval. In states of emergency, he would call to discuss the latest opportunity or frustration to make sure that what he brought home met with Bucky’s increasingly exacting standards. In the direst of situations, Steve would even video chat with Bucky so Bucky could observe the item in real time before delivering his verdict on its worthiness.

The lead-up to Thanksgiving tested all of Steve’s resolve, and quite a lot of his patience. Bucky had gotten it into his head that he needed to deliver a picture perfect Thanksgiving -based on the pictures in magazines and on television - or the world would suddenly cease to exist. Steve tried not to interfere, but dutifully ran Bucky’s errands, let himself be commanded like the lowliest of privates, and generally allowed himself to be run ragged in pursuit of Bucky’s impossible ideal.

It was just going to be the two of them for Thanksgiving, but Bucky was adamant about preparing enough food for a platoon of super soldiers.

It had never been a holiday of particular importance to them growing up, either. But right now? Right now it was the most important thing consuming all of Bucky’s attention and energy. 

Steve couldn’t wait until it was over.

&&&

Thanksgiving dawned cold and clear, and Steve busied himself with domestic chores well away from the kitchen, trying not to fret but failing miserably. Bucky had banned him from entering the kitchen at about 6 a.m., his nerves frazzled and his hair unkempt as he tried to wrangle all the ingredients of the perfect Thanksgiving Steve had never asked for. Steve had beat a retreat, hopped in the car, and drove to the nearest open place that served coffee, and had come back with a cardboard carton filled with their largest cups, along with some freshly delivered donuts and sweet rolls. He’d placed a couple of the coffees and pastries in the dining room adjacent to the kitchen, and then made himself scarce. 

He’d had to grin when he heard Bucky’s voice call “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” followed by, “Oooh, blueberry danish!” 

Yeah. Supersoldiers loved with food.

But the increasingly frustrated sounds coming out of the kitchen, the greater frequency of cabinet door slamming, pots crashing, and general cussedness was beginning to worry Steve.

“Hey, Buck? You doin’ okay in there, pal?” Steve called from the other side of the dining room, trying to peer into the kitchen, but unable to catch a glimpse of Bucky.

“Don’t come in here. It’s ... just don’t,” Bucky insisted, and the ping of projectiles hitting pans started up again, punctuated by muttered curses did not tell a happy story.

It came to a head a little past noon when the fire alarm went off at the same time Steve could smell the unmistakable odor of burning flesh. He prayed it wasn’t Bucky’s when he ran toward the kitchen, remembering not to break through the walls they’d so carefully restored when they moved in. “Bucky, baby, are you okay -“

He skidded to a halt at the sound of a thunderous crash as Bucky flung the pan containing the immolated bird to the ground, thick smoke swirling around and filling the kitchen as the alarm blared.

“I just ... I just can’t! I just wanted a nice holiday, I wanted to show you how much I, and nothing’s going right, and oh my God, it smells horrible, and the potatoes are runny and and and -“

Steve crossed the space in two real-estate-eating steps and pulled Bucky into his arms, nuzzling against his hair, his ear, his cheek as he murmured soothing nonsense. He tightened his grip as Bucky started to cry in great hiccuping gulps. “Buck, it’s just food -“

“We could’a ate for a month on what I ruined! I just wanted it to be perfect for you -“

“But it is, don’t you see? You’re here. I’m here. We’re together. I have everything I want and I’m thankful for everything I have.” He pressed a kiss against Bucky’s temple, smoothing his hand up and down Bucky’s flesh arm. “I don’t need any more than I already have, baby.”

“But -“

“And we’re gonna get out of here and let the kitchen air out okay? I saw the diner’s open today. Whaddya say we give that a try, hmmm?”

Bucky lifted a shaky hand up to his rat’s nest of a do, and shuddered. “I look like shit -“

“You always look beautiful to me. But right now? You do kinda smell like a forest fire.” Bucky snorted a laugh, and Steve grinned, pleased to find he was pulling Bucky out of his spiral. “So go take a nice hot shower, relax, put on some comfy clothes, and we’ll go to the diner and work our way through the entire menu, huh?”

“Will there be pie?” Bucky asked with a hint of surly toddler.

“Buck, it’s a diner. Diners are built on pie.”

&&&

In the end, the lure of pie proved to be greater than Bucky’s anxiety over being in a public place with, you know, people. Once they got to the diner, they were both surprised at how many people were there, singles, couples, whole families, and groups of friends. People looked up, smiled, some waved, and they went back to their meals. Bucky relaxed fractionally as he gripped Steve’s arm, half pulling back, half clinging to him to keep upright.

They were shown a booth in the back corner, against the wall, with clear sight lines. Steve let Bucky take the seat with the best vantage, and his boyfriend smiled up at him recognizing the gesture. Steve took their menus from the hostess as she smiled her understanding. “My brother’s a vet. Two tours in Iraq. He says this is the best seat in the house, so we always try to reserve it for veterans. Thank you for your service, gentleman. Lindy will be your server, and she’ll be right with you.”

As they opened their menus, Bucky slipped his metal hand into Steve’s, who squeezed it gently as a small smile started to play around Bucky’s mouth.

&&&

It’d been a couple of years since that first Thanksgiving together in Meadowville. Bucky’s garden had grown and expanded since then, and now he grew a lot of their fruits and vegetables. He had a whole string of suppliers too, dairy, eggs, meat, bread and pastries, and stuff he didn’t grow himself. Sometimes they’d barter for things Bucky grew or made, other times it was a simple cash sale. 

He’d become much more at ease in the kitchen, less concerned about perfection and more focused on fun and good flavors. And love. He put love into everything he grew, everything he made. There were occasional meltdowns, but they were becoming fewer, far less frequent. But most of the time, the kitchen was his kingdom, the place where he could tease order out of chaos, where he could create and experiment, and where he still would kick Steve out when he became too antsy, or when he filched one too many cookies.

The diner had become a fixture in their lives too since that first Thanksgiving dinner. They’d become friends with nearly everyone who was there that day, from Stan and his wife Joan to Lindy the waitress, and even Dot and Lou, the owners of the place. Bucky had become much more at ease with people, being in public, and the diner was a major contributing factor in that. In fact, sometimes Bucky would pitch in when their cook got sick, or needed extra hands. He had his other activities, the dance club, his ladies, the farmers’ market, and so on. But the diner remained a kind of touchstone for Bucky since that day.

For this year’s Thanksgiving, they’d opened up the Barnes-Rogers’ home to any and all who wanted to stop by, and their house had been warmed by a steady stream of friends and well-wishers, everyone bringing a dish to add to the feast. The diner was closed, but there was a sign on the door pointing patrons to Steve and Bucky’s place. Bucky was especially pleased to serve the people who most frequently served everyone else in town, 

The arrival of the Quinjet around dusk elicited a burble of excitement, with everyone crowding around windows to watch the textbook landing of the craft in the field they kept open just for this purpose. By the time Sam, Tony, Pepper, Nat, Clint, and Bruce deplaned, everyone was pretending to lose interest so they’d be cool when the Avengers came through the door bearing New York delicacies and bottles of wine.

It was shocking how seamlessly their friends from New York meshed with their friends from Meadowville. Perhaps not so shocking, considering the food, the wine and the company.

Supersoldiers still loved with food. They just had more people to love these days.

“Whatchya thinkin’, punk?” Bucky asked later, sidling up to Steve and slipping his arm around Steve’s waist as Steve leaned against the door jamb, watching their guests, their friends, mingle and have a good time in their home.

“Thinking about how much we have to be thankful for.” He turned then, rubbed his nose against Bucky’s, and smiled. “How much I have to be thankful for.”

Bucky nodded, his face serious and wise. “Pie.”

“Pie?” Steve asked, his eyebrows nearly making contact with his hairline.

Bucky grinned. “And cheesecake. Stark brought a whole smorgasbord of cheesecake. New York’s finest.”

“And you’re telling me this now? Wait, did I miss out -“

“Relax, baby. I set them up on the back porch. You get first dibs. And I put the strawberry amaretto in the fridge for later. Now what are you thankful for?”

“Tony,” Steve answered with a straight face, earning him a backhanded smack to the chest. “Ow, that hurt, jerk. Just for that, I’m -“

Bucky shut him up with a kiss, stealing Steve’s breath away. “I’ll tell you what I’m thankful for,” Bucky said, breaking away from the kiss. “I’m thankful for you. Every goddamned day, I’m grateful and amazed you’ve never given up on me, not once.”

“You never gave up on me, sweetheart. Why would I even think about giving up on you?”

“We’re a coupe of saps,” Bucky said then, grinning. “And I’m thankful for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m in a mad dash to finish this bingo, which is due by this Saturday! Hope you enjoy - there are more to come.
> 
> Trigger warning: Bucky doesn’t leave the house or interact with people other than Steve. Bucky has a meltdown when the Perfect Thanksgiving doesn’t come together.


End file.
